


Intending to Burn

by sister_wolf



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-03
Updated: 2007-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anissa's first thought is, <em>Oh shit, I didn't fuck Roy, did I?</em>, but a glance down at the heavily tattooed arm wrapped around her waist tells her that the truth is even worse.  She fucked <em>Grace</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intending to Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://derryderrydown.livejournal.com/profile)[**derryderrydown**](http://derryderrydown.livejournal.com/) for [](http://community.livejournal.com/jbbs/profile)[**jbbs**](http://community.livejournal.com/jbbs/) 2006\. A big thank you to my beta, [](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[**rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/)!

Anissa wakes up slowly in an unfamiliar bed, her head pounding like Gorilla Grodd decided to re-start his invasion of New York by beating her over the head a few dozen times. She's fairly sure, though, that it's just a hangover.

There's a big, warm body curled up behind her and a brawny arm thrown over her midsection. Her first thought is, _Oh shit, I didn't fuck Roy, did I?_ , but a glance down at the heavily tattooed arm wrapped around her waist tells her that the truth is even worse. She fucked _Grace_.

"Oh my god," Anissa moans, covering her face with one hand. She should have _known_ better than to go out drinking with Grace last night. What the hell was she _thinking_?

She slides out of the bed, trying to dislodge Grace's arm without waking her. Anissa freezes as Grace mumbles under her breath and rolls on her back, but relaxes again when Grace's breathing settles into the regular pattern of sleep.

Clothing, both hers and Grace's, is scattered on the floor of the studio apartment. Anissa finds her skirt and top, but her underwear is nowhere to be found and her bra is in pieces. Dammit, she liked that bra, too. Her purse is lying on the floor by the door, as if she dropped it when she came in.

She pauses with one hand resting on the doorknob and glances back at Grace. She's not surprised to see that Grace's eyes are open and her arms are casually folded underneath her head.

"So is this the part where you freak out because you fucked a chick and then pretend it never happened?" Grace asks, voice deep and raspy with sleep.

Sighing, Anissa scrubs a hand over her short-cropped hair. "No, this is the part where no one freaks out and then we _both_ pretend it never happened, because we're grown-ups and we work together."

Grace nods, seemingly unsurprised. "Gotcha. No in-team fucking."

"Right."

"Okay," Grace says, yawning and stretching. The sheet, which had been only haphazardly covering her to begin with, slides off as she shifts, baring full, brown-nippled breasts. Anissa averts her eyes hastily, but not before she has a very fuzzy memory flash of licking that evil, evil spiced nectar from the hollow between Grace's breasts.

"Okay. Long as we've got that straight." Feeling annoyed, Anissa shuts the door behind her a little harder than necessary. The noise makes her wince and swallow hard, fighting back the urge to throw up.

Freaking out can wait. First, she needs about ten gallons of water and some Advil.

***

In the time-honored tradition of the women of her family, Anissa avoids dealing with what happened by doing housework. She's leaning against the laundry machine, staring down at her neatly-folded basket of tee-shirts and underwear, when it suddenly hits her.

She had sex with Grace. She had sex with _Grace_. A woman. A woman with a crude mouth and a tendency to solve problems with either withering sarcasm or her fists, and sometimes both. Anissa briefly tries to imagine introducing Grace to her dad as her... what, her girlfriend? "Don't even _go_ there, Anissa," she mutters to herself. It's a pretty horrifying thought, especially considering how unimpressed by their "punk-rock woman" he'd seemed that one time he helped them out with the demon situation in California.

Besides which, she's seriously putting the cart before the horse; she knows that Grace sleeps around. A lot. Even back when Grace and Roy were doing their not-dating thing. Fucking Anissa was probably just a spur-of-the-moment impulse on Grace's part. Hell, she probably thought it was _funny_ , corrupting the goody-two-shoes college girl.

"Fuck," Anissa groans, rubbing her hands across her face. She wishes she could talk to someone about this, but who? She's fallen out of touch with all of her Tulane friends, her dad's still pissed at her about the superheroing thing -- not to mention, it'd be a cold day in hell before she'd willingly discuss her sex life with her _dad_ , much though she loves him -- and the only other people she knows are on the team. She can't talk it over with Roy, for obvious reasons; Shift is completely fucked up over Indigo's death; she doesn't really feel like she knows Starfire yet, not to mention she's kind of really intimidating; and Jade is... not exactly the kind of person who invites girl talk. Go, team.

Her head is a lot clearer than it was earlier, now that copious amounts of water and painkillers have done their magic. She's managed to piece together her memories of the chain of events that started with the two of them toasting Indigo's memory in the corner booth at Chaney's and ended with Anissa waking up, naked and well-fucked, in Grace's bed. She's not sure if that's a good thing or not.

Grace had finished off the bottle (how the hell she managed to do that and still walk afterwards was beyond Anissa) and declared that Chaney's sucked and the two of them needed to get out of there.

Anissa had been pretty drunk on that Rota... whatever the hell that stuff was... by then herself. They stumbled down the street together, Grace singing some song about cowboys being "frequently secretly fond of each other" off-key and at the top of her lungs. When Anissa tried to shush her, Grace got that big, evil grin on her face and launched into a song she swore was by the Rolling Stones. By the time Grace got to the chorus ("Oh where can I get my cock sucked? Where can I get my ass fucked?"), Anissa's face was flaming red and she was actively praying for another invasion by talking gorillas.

They staggered to a stop outside of Grace's apartment building, a crumbling brownstone that looked like a good shove might bring it tumbling down on top of them. Anissa leaned against the pitted cement archway at the top of the short flight of exterior steps, waiting for Grace to fumble her keys out of her pocket. The cement was cool against her cheek, helping her to feel a little less like her head was spinning.

"I'm a lonesome schoolboy in your town," Grace sang under her breath, apparently having some difficulty fitting the key into the lock.

Anissa snorted. "That has got to be the single filthiest song I've ever heard in my life."

Grace cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning crookedly. "Oh, Thunder-girl... you should know by now not to say things like that to me. 'Cause now I'm gonna spend the next month -- "

"Coming up with the nastiest songs you can think of, yes, I know," Anissa interrupted. She crossed her arms under her breasts and rolled her eyes, sighing ostentatiously.

Grace swore under her breath and smacked the door lightly with her palm, leaning her head against the door briefly. Anissa was just beginning to feel the first slight stirrings of alarm when Grace turned and picked her up bodily with her hands around Anissa's waist, pinning her between Grace's body and the wall. "God damn, you just have no fucking idea what that does to me, do you?" Grace almost growled, her lips hovering over Anissa's.

"What -- uh -- what does to you?" Anissa stuttered. Grace's body was incredibly warm against hers and there was, she was finding, a huge difference between _knowing_ that Grace was over a foot taller than her and _feeling_ it, up close and personal.

"When you give me that _look_. All prim and disapproving. Makes me wanna corrupt the hell out of you," Grace breathed, and kissed her.

Anissa's few boyfriends in college had been nice boys, polite, well-behaved boys. Being kissed by Grace felt more like being fucked than actual _sex_ with any of those nice boys had. Grace was all overwhelming heat and hunger, thick tongue thrusting into Anissa's mouth, one hand sliding down, palming the back of her thigh, up under the hem of her short skirt.

Anissa moans out loud, startling herself out of the memory. She shifts, unclenching her thighs, uncomfortably aware that her panties are a little damp.

Oh hell. She is _so_ completely fucked.

***

Jade calls them all together for a "team meeting" on the rooftop of some random office building. And all Anissa can think, standing there, is that they feel less like a team now than they ever have, with the unspoken ghost of Indigo hovering over their heads.

Shift says barely anything, and when he does, he sounds different -- angry and cynical. He was always the best of them, a normal, average guy who just happened to be made of unstable molecules. Even when everything was going to hell all around them, he could still find the humor in the situation. That's gone now, lost along with everything else that used to make the Outsiders a team she felt proud to be a part of.

Jade lays down the ground rules: no meetings, no headquarters, no contact except if Jade or Arsenal contacts them. That's not a fucking _team_ , Anissa fumes, about to voice her objections, but then Grace gets into it with Jade and there's nearly a brawl, quasi-Green Lantern vs. superstrong metahuman, right there on the roof. The meeting ends without bloodshed -- barely -- and Anissa stalks away, realizing too late that Grace has fallen into step with her. She hasn't seen Grace in almost a week, not since that night. She had been kind of hoping to escape the meeting without speaking to Grace at all, though she realizes that's not a realistic long-term solution, not if they're both going to continue to be on the same team.

"Can you believe that bullshit?" Grace snarls, slamming the door to the stairwell open. The inside door handle crashes into the wall and sticks there. Anissa tugs it loose from the wall with a patter of falling concrete shards, noting that there's a Grace-hand-shaped dent in the door now. More property damage. That seems to be an Outsiders _theme_ , along with accidentally freeing hundreds of imprisoned villains and getting jerked around by both Batman _and_ Deathstroke at the same time.

"Come join the Outsiders," Anissa mutters sourly, trailing Grace down the stairs. "We make other superhero teams look _good_."

Grace snorts. "The Outsiders: We may not be much of a team, but we sure look pretty!"

"The Outsiders: Where massive property damage is just part of the fun."

"The Outsiders: The team that both Batman _and_ Nightwing dissed!" Grace stops on a landing a few steps down from Anissa, saying, "So, think we could get Robin to join? I mean, since it's such an Outsiders tradition to every so often have one of the Bats get all pissy and quit the team."

Anissa pretends to consider it. "Hmmm. I'm thinking... no," she says, snickering under her breath. "Oh my god, Batman would totally freak _out_ if we corrupted his little sidekick."

"Yeah, but it'd be so much _fun_."

They share a conspiratorial grin, and Anissa is struck once again by how well the two of them get along together these days. She can remember just _hating_ Grace at first, with her bitchy comments and her vulgarity, and the way she didn't seem to give a shit about anything or anyone. It's not that Grace has gotten any less bitchy or vulgar -- she hasn't -- but for some reason it doesn't bug Anissa as much anymore. Maybe she's just gotten used to it.

"So, are we cool?" Grace asks. Her hands are shoved into her pockets, her face defiantly blank.

Anissa rubs her hand over her hair, accidentally knocking the wig a little askew. Dammit, she has _got_ to redesign her costume one of these days -- she's sick to death of the wig, not to mention the industrial-strength boning and underwire necessary to keep her breasts from falling out all over the place. "Yeah," she says softly. "We're cool."

"Cool." Grace smiles at her, kind of narrow-eyed and hungry-looking. Anissa's nipples tighten, and she fights the urge to cross her arms over her chest. "But anytime you want to take a walk on the wild side, the offer still stands. Just give me the word and I'll make you come so hard you forget your own _name_."

"I'll -- uh -- I'll keep that in mind," Anissa stutters. She has to brush by Grace on her way down the stairs. Grace's body heat and her scent, spicy and musky, bring back a flood of memories that Anissa's been trying to repress. Grace laughs quietly as Anissa scoots by her, the sound raising the hairs on the back of Anissa's neck. "What?" she demands, stopping a few steps down from Grace with her hands on her hips, tilting her head back to glare up at her.

Grace sits down carelessly on the landing, legs sprawled wide. "Worried that my bisexual germs are gonna infect you, sweetheart?" She smirks at Anissa, that self-satisfied smirk that rarely fails to get a rise out of whoever she aims it at.

Anissa curls a lip at her. "Whatever. I should have known that you'd hold this over my head."

"I'm not holding anything over your head," Grace says, spreading her hands. "I'm just sayin', for a woman who claims she's not interested in exploring the lesbotronic side of the Force, your nipples are looking awfully perky and excited at the thought."

This time Anissa doesn't fight the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Goddammit, when she redesigns her costume it's gonna have industrial strength padding in the bra area. "That's an involuntary physical response," she hisses. "It doesn't mean _anything_ except that it's chilly in here."

"Sure. You just keep telling yourself that."

Anissa isn't exactly sure how it happens, but one minute, she's glaring at Grace, so pissed off that she could just _spit_ , and the next, she's straddling Grace's lap, gauntleted hands buried in Grace's hair, kissing her so hard that her lips feel bruised. Grace makes a quiet, surprised-sounding noise and then takes control of the kiss. She kisses like it's a full-out invasion and she's ready to storm the beaches, her tongue thrusting into Anissa's mouth, her hands squeezing Anissa's ass.

Anissa breaks off the kiss and just rests for a moment, panting, her forehead pressed against Grace's. "God, you piss me off _so much_."

Grace laughs, the sound low and strangely sweet for such a tough bitch. "Makes you hot, doesn't it?"

"Dammit. Yes," Anissa admits, shivering as Grace runs a fingertip along the diamonds of exposed skin on Anissa's stomach.

Grace slowly traces the curve of breast partially exposed by the bodice of Anissa's bodysuit. "Have I ever mentioned how much I dig your costume?"

"You said I looked like Lil' Kim on an acid trip," Anissa snorts.

Grace shrugs. "Well, yeah, that's true. But I gotta say, I've been appreciating your neckline -- or lack of one -- for _months_." She leans forward, dipping Anissa back and holding her there effortlessly with her hands supporting Anissa's back. Anissa clutches at Grace's shoulders, more out of startled reflex than any actual fear that Grace will drop her. They once caught a fighter jet together, for fuck's sake.

Grace licks a line straight down from the hollow of her throat to the dip between her breasts, pausing there to nip at the under curve of Anissa's left breast. She follows the edge of Anissa's uniform with her tongue, outlining the vee until it curves up again around her right breast. She pauses a second, then Anissa sucks in a breath as Grace's hot, wet mouth closes over her nipple, the sensation only blunted a little by the layer of spandex between them.

Anissa hangs, suspended in mid-air, her head tilted back and eyes closed, as Grace nibbles and sucks at her nipples. She's not worrying about whether this is a bad idea anymore. She _knows_ it's a bad idea... but right now, she can't really bring herself to care. And maybe it's time for her to try being a little less goody-two-shoes.

Grace leaves a series of biting kisses up the length of Anissa's neck, breathing into her ear, "How the hell do I get this thing off you?"

"Wha -- no, no way, we are _not_ having sex in a stairwell," Anissa says, her sanity returning... at least a little. She smacks at Grace's shoulder, pushing until Grace lets her sit upright again.

"Hate to tell you this, babe," Grace says, smirking, "But we kind of already _are_."

"Heavy petting, second base at worst," Anissa argues.

Grace raises an eyebrow. "Are you daring me? 'Cause I can take this to third base _real_ easy," she says, smiling wickedly and stroking two fingers over the crotch of Anissa's bodysuit.

Anissa shivers, involuntarily making little breathy sounds as Grace slides her fingers back and forth, exploring. "Hey, you're not wearing any underwear," Grace says huskily.

"Skintight spandex bodysuit and -- ah! -- visible panty lines, not a good combo," Anissa manages.

"You know, in retrospect, that makes all of our battles _so_ much hotter." Grace pauses, her fingers tracing distracting little circles, too lightly to be anything but a tease. "So, no getting naked in the stairwell, huh?"

"Absolutely not." No matter how tempted she might be. Yeah, it's after midnight in a deserted office building, and the chances of them being walked in on are probably nil, but she's got to draw the line somewhere.

"So, you wanna go back to my place and fuck like monkeys in heat?"

Anissa bites her lip, trying to think. "My place is closer."

"Awesome." Grace presses harder for a second, making Anissa squeak in a way that she'll probably be embarrassed about later. "But I wanna make you come _now_." Anissa really, really can't argue with that ambition. Grace bites the side of her neck again, growling into her ear, "I bet I can get you off without taking off your costume."

"Feel free to... mmm... give it a try." At this point, Anissa's turned on enough that the cement staircase landing really isn't looking all that bad anymore.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that Grace is strong enough to benchpress an armored car. Then she does things that remind you. Anissa yelps, startled, as Grace picks her up by the waist and just _moves_ her, lying down on the landing and positioning Anissa so that she's kneeling and straddling Grace's head.

"What the -- ohfuck," Anissa hisses, her head dropping forward as her eyes close. It doesn't feel like there's _anything_ between her pussy and Grace's tongue, and she's doing this fluttery thing that feels _amazing_.

"Superstrong tongue, baby," Grace says, slightly muffled.

"Less talking, more -- ah! -- more cunnilingus," Anissa orders, half-serious. Okay, maybe more like three-quarters.

Grace snorts with laughter, which feels really weird but actually kind of hot, and goes back to driving Anissa crazy with her tongue. She's found exactly the right spot to flick against, that spot that makes little sparks of heat radiate from Anissa's clit throughout the rest of her body. And she keeps on flicking against it, until Anissa is moaning and writhing, not sure if she wants to move closer or further away, because it's almost -- almost -- too much. And then the wave of tension crests and breaks, crashing through her body, until Anissa is wrung out, panting, feeling little aftershocks chasing through her.

Grace shifts Anissa back, her hands resting comfortably on Anissa's waist. "Damn, I've missed muff-diving," she says, grinning up at Anissa shamelessly.

Anissa rolls her eyes, smiling despite herself. "You're disgusting."

"Yeah, yeah. You dig it."


End file.
